Beyond Barricades
by Unicadia
Summary: AU where the revolution succeeds and the Friends of the ABC must now put down an insurrection . . . started by their own kids! K-plus for thematic elements.


**I had time for another story! This one has been in the works a long time, and I'm super excited to share it with you all now. Enjoy!**

 **And thank you to** **rebecca-in-blue for spotting some problems!**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

* * *

Twelve-year-old Valère, his wiry blonde hair sticking out in all directions, marched into his parents' bedroom, followed by his twin sister, Vivian. They positioned themselves on either side of the large canopy bed, and Valère announced in his best authoritative voice, "We have a petition to present to the parents of the offspring of this household."

From under the blankets their mother, Mm. Odette Bahorel mumbled, "I told you not to read them Enjolras' speeches."

M. Alexandre Bahorel raised his head and glared at the twins with bleary eyes. "What's this petition of yours?"

"We request an immediate withdrawal from education," said Vivian, posing with her arms behind her back. Her deep blue eyes demanded nothing less than compliance.

Their mother sat up and frowned. "Why? Are the teachers cruel?"

"No," said Valère, seeing where this was going.

M. Bahorel laughed, a loud, raucous noise for the early morning. "Oh, I get it. Well, you two are just going to have to go to school today anyway." And he lay back down. The twins exchanged disappointed looks before leaving the bedroom in defeat.

After school, Valère, fuming, and Vivian, irritated, left to attend a meeting of the Children of the Barricade. This was a secret society formed by the children of the revolutionaries, specifically Les Amis de l' ABC.

"Something has to be done about our conditions," seethed Valère as they approached the little clubhouse, a shack in an abandoned lot next to their house.

"Let's see what Jacqueline has to say about it," said Vivian.

They came to the door, which bore a sign stating "No Seven-Year-Olds or Younger Allowed." Valère opened the door and the twins stepped inside.

"There you are!" cried Jacqueline Prouvaire, frowning from her place at the head of the room. "Why are you late? As members of the Children of the Barricade, and especially since you live right next door, I expect punc-tu-ality," and with each syllable she banged her fist on the little table in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Jacqui. School let out later than usual today." Vivian rolled her eyes. Most of the other children had governesses.

"Well, come on," said Jacqueline. "We have a lot to do today." As the Chief of the Children, Jacqueline took her role very seriously. She was also the youngest, at eight. "All right. Let's go oldest to youngest today. Um, Destiny, you start."

Destiny Combeferre exceeded the twins in age by six months. More obviously, she also exceeded them in complexion. She cleared her throat. "I was forced to eat an entire plate of bulots for dinner last night."

Jacqueline made a face. "Disgusting. Next!"

Valère began, his face red. He had a slight crush on Destiny. "I'm sick of school. I even made a formal petition to my parents and they never heard me out."

"And yesterday at school," added Vivian, "a bully was picking on a poor little boy, so I punched the bully as hard as I could in the stomach to discourage him." Vivian accentuated this account with a violent thrust of her fist and an angry expression. She relaxed and continued. "Papa thought it was great, but Maman punished me."

"How cruel!" cried Jacqueline, her tiny face fierce. She scribbled something on a piece of paper and looked up. "Next!"

Eleven-year-old Hilaire Feuilly stood and flashed daggers around the room. "I hit Émile and both Maman and Papa sided with him!"

Jacqueline gave him a reproving look. "That is your own fault, my dear Hilaire. You're up, Henri!"

Henri Pontmercy jumped up and down in his seat. "I was playing with Papa's candlesticks, and he got mad at me for no reason at all!"

"Mm-hm. Émile!"

Émile, Hilaire's younger brother, who also sported a fine black eye, grinned and said, "I got nothing. I'm just happy Hilaire got punished."

Hilaire glared at Émile, and a fight would have broken up the meeting past the point of return, but for Jacqueline, who shouted, "Nicole!"

Nine-year-old Nicole Courfeyrac smoothed out her satin dress before beginning. "Maman wouldn't let me have thirds for lunch."

"How terrible! She shouldn't have let you have seconds." Nicole was a little plump. She frowned at Jacqueline, who appeared not to notice. "Go ahead, Désiré."

The youngest of the Feuilly tribe launched into a pitiful tale of breaking into his father's art supplies and painting the tricolor all over the walls of the house and how he had been spanked and he couldn't understand why his artist father could not appreciate his own son's work. When he stopped to catch his breath, Jacqueline, unsure if he had more to say, interjected, "Camille, please."

Little Camille Laigle, sitting apart from the others, looked up from the mirror she was gazing in and shrugged.

"What does that mean?"

Camille shrugged again. "I have no complaints?"

"Okay." Jacqueline did not look convinced, but didn't pursue the subject. She crawled onto the table and stood up. "As for me," she bellowed "I have to put up with three slobbering younger siblings. Soon it will be four. The least my parents could do for me is give me my own room." She stood poised on the table for a long time. Valère thought he heard singing in the distance. Finally, Jacqueline climbed down. "We need to do something about these injustices."

"I have an idea," said Destiny. "All our fathers fought in a revolution a while ago. They built a barricade and stayed there until the king gave them what they wanted. Why don't we do that?" This statement surprised Valère, and he glanced at his sister. She shook her head.

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes. "Build a barricade?"

"What's a barricade?" asked Désiré, who was a little slow.

"It's a bunch of stuff piled up and blocking something," said Destiny.

"Hold it!" said Valère, stepping forward. He felt strangely agitated, and he paused a moment before beginning. "This is the first time I've ever heard of barricades. Our parents never mentioned it to us." He realized that must have sounded very stupid; they were called the "Children of the Barricade." Why had he never questioned it before?

The others stared at Valère and Vivian in shock. Jacqueline tapped her fingers together. "Odd." She looked at the twins sidelong and sighed. "Maybe your father didn't participate in it."

"No, my papa told me Oncle Bahorel was there," said Destiny. Turning to the startled twins, she said, "Look, twelve years ago, our fathers decided to rebel against the king because he was ruling France so badly."

"Yes, we know that," said Valère, irritated.

Destiny ignored the comment, which hurt Valère, and continued. "They built a barricade and fought the National Guard until the people came and helped them. Then the king finally let them have some of the changes they wanted."

"If we won, why didn't Papa or Maman ever say anything?" said Vivian.

"I have no idea," said Jacqueline, her tone bored. "Can we move on, please?"

"I guess." Valère and Vivian sat down again, but Valère felt confused and a little angry. His complaints from earlier now seemed unimportant and petty.

"Do we get to destroy anything?" he heard Henri ask.

Jacqueline waved him back to his seat. "Uh, we'll see about that. First we have to figure out some details, such as-"

"Such as where we will build the barricade, when we'll do it, what everyone should do, and whether or not there will be madeleines," said Destiny.

"Exactly," said Jacqueline. "And I say, in front of the Feuilly shop, tomorrow morning, and yes, there will be madeleines."

They all cheered, except for the twins, and Émile, Désiré, and Henri got dangerously close to breaking every table, chair, window, and toy in the room, but Jacqueline stood on the table again and yelled, "As for the assigning, let's do that now. Destiny's in charge of making sure everything happens the way it's supposed to; Hilaire, Valère, Désiré, Émile, and Henri are on barricade construction duty."

"Hurray!" Désiré and Henri shouted.

"Camille and Nicole are on madeleine duty, meaning you get madeleines, and you get good madeleines, got that? Vivian, I guess you get to do whatever you want. And I am the chief, of course."

"Our parents aren't going to let us do it," Valère mumbled.

Jacqueline must have heard him, though, for she smiled an evil smile. "Right. That's why we're going to get up really early tomorrow morning and go to the shop before anyone misses us."

"That's almost like running away!" Camille gasped.

"Yep. If the Parents want us to come back, they'd better change a couple things first. So, at four in the morning, we'll all meet here before heading over to the shop. Take some things we can use to build the barricade with. Let's do this! The Children of the Barricade will rise!"

They all cheered again and whooped around the room before going their separate ways. Only Valère and Vivian did not join in the excitement, and quietly exited the clubhouse last.

* * *

That night, the twins did not eat much. They picked at their plates, and kept glancing at the clock above the table. At last, their father slammed down his utensils, and bellowed, "What is the matter with you two? Eat!"

"Alexandre," said Mm. Bahorel, laying a small hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Why didn't you ever tell us you fought on a barricade?" Valère said, a bit louder than he meant to.

Their parents froze and stared at them in surprise. "Where did you hear that?" whispered Mm. Bahorel.

"Maman, all the other Children of the Barricade know," said Vivian. "You couldn't expect us to never catch on."

"Why?" Valère repeated.

Their parents exchanged distressed looks. Mm. Bahorel dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Well, um-"

"Later, children," M. Bahorel growled. "We'll tell you later."

The twins excused themselves from the table and trudged up the staircase to their rooms.

That night, as he lay in bed, Valère stared at the two portraits hanging above his dresser, which stood at the opposite side of the room. He had no idea who the young man and woman depicted were. A pair of paintings of the same couple also hung in Vivian's room. They had hung there as long as Valère could remember. They looked like nice people. Both smiled a little at the corners of their mouths, as if they were particularly mischievous, or if they knew a delicious secret. Valère always thought of them as his guardian angels.

He turned over and glared into the corner of his pillow. Father never kept secrets from him. Why not tell him of the barricade? Why not his father of all people, someone who loved fighting and could not resist recounting all his other exploits to Valère and Vivian on late winter nights?

Early the following morning, Valère awoke to his sister shaking his shoulders and hissing, "Come on, Valère! It's time to go!"

They lit a candle and gathered some light pieces of furniture from around the dark house (a small table, a stool, and Vivian's old doll's chair). Then they crept out into the dewy morning and made their way toward the clubhouse.

Jacqueline did attendance, and, satisfied with the collection of odds and ends her compatriots came up with, stood on the table once more and announced, "Let us set forth for the Shop of Liberty and construct the Barricade of Freedom!"

Désiré and Henri screamed with joy at this, and Jacqueline silenced them with a loud, "SHH!"

The Children of the Barricade struggled out of the clubhouse bearing their building materials. Every knock of wood, every scuff on the cobblestones, rang loud and dangerous on the silent streets.

At last, they arrived at the dark fan shop Hilaire, Émile, and Désiré's father owned. Jacqueline checked the windows, then faced the three boys with a sharp look. "You're sure they're asleep?"

"Of course," Hilaire snapped. "We also locked their bedroom door so when they do wake up, they can't disrupt our barricade."

"Good idea."

"Look," said Destiny, taking a square of cloth from inside her dress. "I made a flag." The children watched in awe as Destiny unfolded the square to reveal a rather crookedly hemmed, but otherwise glorious, red flag.

Jacqueline took it and stretched it out in admiration. "Do any of you boys have a stick we can hang this on?"

None of them did, but they found a metal bar and hoisted the flag onto it. Jacqueline handed the flag to Vivian. "Since you don't have anything else to do." Vivian clasped the bar and gazed up at the flag with pride.

Jacqueline then turned to Camille and Nicole. "Where are the madeleines?"

"Well," said Camille, taking her embroidered satchel off her shoulder and pulling out a bag of madeleines, "Nicole ate a lot of them, but we still have enough for two per person, though someone's only going to get one."

Jacqueline smiled at Nicole. "And you will be that someone, Nicole, seeing as you already had more than your share."

Nicole grumbled, but Jacqueline ignored her. "Come on, boys! Barricade building time!"

Désiré jumped up and began running around everyone in a circle. "What exactly do we do?" Hilaire asked.

"Um." Jacqueline put a finger to her mouth as she surveyed the various pieces of furniture and toys.

"Just pile it all in front of the shop," said Destiny.

The boys threw everything together noisily, causing the girls to shush them every ten seconds. Valère momentarily forgot his irritation and even showed off to Destiny by balancing the small table on one hand. She wasn't watching, though, and he tossed it onto the barricade in disgust.

An hour later, the barricade stood finished in all its glory in front of the fan shop. The Children of the Barricade attempted standing on it with their flag, but the furniture shifted beneath their feet and they contented themselves with standing behind their masterpiece. Vivian lodged the bar with the flag between a shelf and a chair, and the little barricade was complete. Jacqueline burst into a loud song:

 _"Do you hear the people-"_

"Jacqui," Destiny hissed, "aren't we supposed to keep it down?"

"Oh, right, sorry."

"Now what do we do?" asked Henri, bobbing up and down.

"We wait." Jacqueline settled down and gazed over the barricade intently. The others followed her lead.

Valère dared sitting next to Destiny. Vivian sat on his other side, playing with her unruly blonde hair. Valère opened his mouth to speak, swallowed, leaned close to Destiny, and whispered, "What else did your father tell you about the barricade?"

Destiny cocked her head, as though she were listening to her father right there. "He said there were nine of them, the leaders of the revolution, altogether, along with Oncle Marius, of course."

Valère sighed. "Yes, I know that too."

Destiny shook her head. "Oncle Enjolras never told you about it? Oncle Grantaire?"

"No." Valère kicked at a stone. "My parents must have told them not to say anything."

"Did they tell you about Éponine?"

"No. Who is she?"

"She was a girl who loved Oncle Marius. She saved his life on the barricade by taking a bullet for him."

The revolution felt more real now. People actually died.

"And she was Tata Azelma's sister."

Valère stared at Destiny in shock. "Jacqueline's mother? This Éponine was her sister?"

Destiny nodded. "Did you know that Oncle Laigle's best friend saved him also? Oncle . . . Joly, I think his name was, died protecting him."

Valère shook his head, the anger returning. "They never told me anything."

They sat in silence. The morning lightened. The dark shops and the houses behind them came into view, dim and dusty. Most of the children were asleep. Only Valère and Jacqueline kept the vigil. Destiny lay with her head on Valère's shoulder. His arm was cramping, but he didn't want to move and disturb Destiny.

"BOYS!"

The shout from the back of the shop jolted the Children of the Barricade from slumber. Hilaire paled. "It's Maman. I think they discovered the locked door."

The children faced the shop, listening to the irate voices emanating from within.

"I think we should present our case to them now," said Destiny.

"Right." Jacqueline addressed the Feuilly boys. "Hilaire, Émile, Désiré, go by the bedroom window and tell your parents that if they don't meet our demands, they'll be locked in that room till Christ returns." The boys nodded and scurried off. "As for us, where are the Parents? Why aren't they looking for us?"

"It is five in the morning," Camille pointed out. "They're," and she nodded toward the shop, "only up because they work."

Jacqueline scowled. "It's like they don't care."

"Patience, Jacqui," said Destiny. "It's worth it if we get what we want, right?"

"I suppose you're right." She peered over the barricade. "Hey! There they are!"

The children leaned over the barricade. Down the opposite street came a small group of adults, the expressions on their faces a mixture of worry and anger. Upon seeing his father, Valère wanted to disappear and never return. He slid down and hid behind the barricade, watching the onslaught of adults through a gap in the piled furniture.

The first to reach the barricade was Oncle Prouvaire, more worry than anger. "Children!" he cried. "Jacqui! What are you doing?"

"We are the Children of the Barricade!" Jacqueline shouted. "We will not be moved!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Valère's father roared.

"It's a barricade. Isn't that clever?" laughed Oncle Courfeyrac.

"Clever! Cosette had a fit when she discovered Henri missing." Oncle Marius glared at Courfeyrac.

"Camille, please come out!" cried Oncle Laigle.

Camille stood her ground. "Not until-" She froze, her face blank, and all the children stared at her in horror. Jacqueline mouthed the words, "Say something." Camille blinked, laughed nervously, then clambered over the barricade and took her father's hand.

"Traitor!" Jacqueline shrieked, leaping onto the barricade. It creaked beneath her, the furniture slipped, the flag rocked, and it all tumbled onto the cobblestones, a bewildered Jacqueline lying on top. Valère scrambled out of the debris and inched toward the side of the shop.

"Valère!" M. Bahorel thundered. "Vivian!"

Vivian dejectedly climbed over the broken furniture toward her father. Valère remained by the shop, trembling.

"Valère!" His voice softened. "Come, son."

"Wait!" Jacqueline cried, struggling out of the remains of the barricade. "Remember our cause!"

"Cause?" said Oncle Combeferre. "Please, children. Tell us what this is all about."

Destiny stepped forward. "We were tired of all the injustices we suffered under you. So we decided to do what you did long ago and build a barricade until you gave us what we wanted."

A moment of silence followed this. Then Oncle Courfeyrac, followed by the others, burst into laughter. "Oh, children," Oncle Prouvaire cried, attempting to pick up Jacqueline. "That's not the way you go about it. Simply ask us and we will – ah – negotiate."

"We tried that," Valère snapped, looking right at his father. "You wouldn't hear us out."

M. Bahorel smiled slightly. "Perhaps we can make a few adjustments. Now come. Your mother is in tears now with worry for you."

Valère hesitated, then approached his father, head lowered. M. Bahorel tilted his head up. "Don't do that, Valère. There is no reason to be ashamed."

They started back for the house, Jacqueline's cries of protests fading away after a few blocks. The gray morning light gave way to people shuffling down the streets, baskets swinging on arms, children tagging behind. Valère caught the eye of a small boy, who stopped and stared back, before his mother took his arm and scolded him and dragged him away. Valère glanced over at Vivian. She watched the cobblestones in front of her, stoic-faced. He looked up at his father. Despite his careless stride and thrown-back shoulders, Valère could tell he was agitated by the set of his mouth. They did not speak all the way home.

When they arrived, Mm. Bahorel enveloped Valère and Vivian in her arms, weeping into their hair. "Never do that again, you naughty, sweet children!"

M. Bahorel touched her shoulder and she looked up, red-faced and wet. "We need to tell them now, Odette."

She nodded, and taking Valère and Vivian's hands, led them over to the couch. They sat down, their father pacing before them. Valère felt a vague sense of bewilderment and excitement.

M. Bahorel cleared his throat, stopped, looked at his wife, and nodded. She sighed, and turned toward the twins. "Dears, I have something very important to tell you." She cleared her throat as well, blinked hard, then said, "We are not your real parents."

The world seemed to stop. Valère found his sister's hand and clutched it.

"Your parents were Hyacinthe-Félicien and Musichetta Joly. They married shortly before the barricade." Mm. Bahorel coughed into her hand. "Your father died protecting his best friend, Oncle Laigle. If he had not done so, you probably would not have your little friend, Camille."

Strange to think that Camille almost never existed.

"Your mother died giving birth to you. Since we," she nodded at her husband, "can't have children, and since your parents were very dear friends of ours, we adopted you. I'm sorry, so sorry, we didn't tell you earlier, but we just didn't know how to put it. To make it simpler for us, we never mentioned the barricade, where your father died." Mm. Bahorel pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. "We didn't want you to have no connection with your parents, though. That's why we hung their portraits in your rooms, hoping, perhaps, you'd come to know them in some small way."

Valère and Vivian sat still on the couch. The clock in the dining room chimed the hour. Suddenly, Vivian stood and ran for the staircase. "Oh," wept Mm. Bahorel, but Valère knew what his sister was doing. He stood and pounded after her, his mind swirling but for two clear images which rose above the confusion. He raced into his room and stopped before the dresser, gazing up at the portraits hanging above it. Vivian joined him and took his hand. "They look so wonderful," she whispered. Valère nodded, unable to speak. His father, his real father, looked down at him from thickly-fringed hazel eyes, a tiny smile at the corners of his lips, beckoning him, onto what, Valère did not know. And his mother, with fortune-teller eyes, the beginnings of dimples in her cheeks, that same beckoning smile. Beckoning him, perhaps, onto something higher, beyond barricades, large and small. Without much conscious thought, Valère opened his mouth and spoke, the words feeling as though someone else were speaking them, "Yes, they are wonderful."


End file.
